


Finishing Touch

by petrodobreva



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Before Care, Blow Job, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Married Sex, Massage, Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Smut, and, but make it sexy, during care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:13:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27897361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petrodobreva/pseuds/petrodobreva
Summary: This might be the best thing that’s ever happened to David. He’s pretty sure. He tries to think of a moment that compares. When he saw Mariah Carey in Toronto when he was seventeen. The day the first boxes of product arrived at the store. When Patrick proposed. Those were all wonderful moments, but they also required a lot of effort—and literal sweat—on David’s part. This time, he doesn't have to do anything.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 48
Kudos: 235
Collections: Politics? What Politics?





	Finishing Touch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yourbuttervoicedbeau (kiwiana)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwiana/gifts).



> This fic is for [yourbuttervoicedbeau](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwiana/pseuds/yourbuttervoicedbeau). Belated congratulations on 100 fics on AO3!!! We are so blessed to get to read all of your words. Thank you for all you do for us! And for being a rad friend.
> 
> Thank you to [EggplantSalad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EggplantSalad/pseuds/EggplantSalad) for being an awesome beta and cheerleader and for putting this very cathartic collection together. I know this is a month late, but I started writing this on Nov 5 because I was _stressed_ and I needed someone to _destress_ me, so David got it instead.
> 
> This fic references the massage storyline from the finale, so if you're not into that you may want to skip it. There's not that much content around it, though. This fic is mostly just David having a really really really nice time while his husband does all the work.

There is a package. It’s very tall, very flat, and very heavy, and it’s waiting for David when they get back to the apartment one afternoon. Well, not waiting for _him_ exactly, since the package is addressed to Patrick.

“Oh, good. It’s here,” Patrick says, dragging it through the door.

David waits, doesn’t even put his bag down, but Patrick says nothing, just leans the package carefully against the wall so it doesn’t disturb the framed etching hanging there. David would rather he just take the frame down, but Patrick’s a cocky shit and says, “Nothing’s going to happen to it, David. It’s fine.”

“So, you’re just going to leave it at that?”

“What?”

“What the hell is it?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

David rolls his eyes. It’s so stupid, they’ve been receiving plenty of large packages since the wedding. A combination of wedding presents and household furnishings in various states of assemblage. This one looks like furniture, but they usually send those packages to the cottage. “Is it for the house?”

Patrick has an annoying glint in his eye. “Sure.”

“You are the worst. Just tell me what it is.”

“You’ll just have to wait and see.”

David gets nothing else out of him after that. They have dinner. They watch a couple of episodes of _Derry Girls_. They eat ice cream and exchange blowjobs. They go to sleep. Patrick doesn’t mention the box again, and David bites his tongue to keep from asking about it and giving Patrick the satisfaction.

* * *

“Okay. This is getting ridiculous. This eyesore of a box has been sitting here for two days and I need it out. You are going to use your day off and take it to the house. It’s way too big for this tiny little apartment.”

“Okay, David.” Patrick briefly looks up from his morning headlines scroll to kiss David’s cheek. “Love you.”

When David returns home that evening, the box has disappeared like he asked, but Patrick didn’t take it to the cottage. It’s immediately clear what was inside.

“Long day at work, hon?” Patrick’s voice is low and his lips are very close to David’s ear. He takes David’s bag from his hand and places it in its usual spot by the hall tree. He returns and rubs David’s shoulders, his grip firm.

It takes David’s thoughts a moment to return in a coherent form. “I’m sorry. So. What I’m getting from this is that we have a million things to do for the house, thank-you notes to write, the holiday season to get ready for, and this whole time, you’ve been planning _this_?”

A massage table sits in the middle of their apartment, an echo of their wedding day.

Patrick’s thumbs press deliciously into his shoulder blades. “Are you complaining?”

He was complaining, technically. But he’s also curious about what Patrick plans for him on that table. David groans in frustration. His husband’s hands are really strong, and David’s back does hurt. His back always hurts. He wiggles slightly to see if Patrick’s hands will slide down any further to work at the knot between his shoulder blades. They do.

“Take a shower,” Patrick murmurs. “I’ll be ready for you when you get out.”

David wants to melt into Patrick right there, all his indignation slipping away under Patrick’s palms.

“And what kind of shower will I be taking?” He shoots for teasing, but it comes out breathless instead.

“A long, hot, thorough shower.” Patrick squeezes the muscles right at the base of his neck. “I want you to be nice and relaxed and ready.”

David lets out a low whine. He takes a shower, and it is hot and thorough—but nobody could reasonably call it long. David wants to get out there as soon as possible. He washes his hair but doesn’t bother styling it.

David steps out of the bathroom, feeling fresh and clean and alluring with the towel nice and low on his hips. He doesn’t miss the way Patrick’s eyes rake him up and down. “So, we like, own this now?”

“Mm,” Patrick grunts. David takes it as an affirmative sound and surveys what’s waiting for him. Patrick didn’t just buy the massage table; he also bought the tiny massage table-sized sheets. And there are massage oils from the store. And tiny rolled towels. And he’s standing there in his delicious gray sweatpants and white undershirt that stretches tight across his chest. He looks very kissable, so David leans in and follows the impulse.

Patrick inhales into the kiss and lets out a small moan. David kisses him again, and again, each kiss noisy and sweet. “So, what’s happening here?” His question is muffled between their mouths.

Patrick kisses him again. “What’s happening is that you had a long day, so your husband is going to give you a good long massage.”

David hums and leans into Patrick. “And then?”

“And then—” Patrick kisses David’s neck, sending shivers down his spine. “—and then I thought I’d finger you open, nice and slick, and then fuck you on the table.”

David groans. “Mmm. That sounds really good.”

“And then I thought I’d make you come.”

“How?”

“I guess we’ll see.”

David doesn’t want to disturb the ambiance that Patrick has curated—complete with nature sounds and candles—but there’s an obvious red flag to address.

“Is this, like, a revenge fantasy or something? From the wedding?”

Patrick sighs and pulls David close again, arms low around David’s waist. “It’s not. Not really. It’s more like, the massage before the wedding was like, I don’t know, inspiration. You liked it, I thought we could do it again—together.’”

David’s not buying it. He tells Patrick as much.

Patrick huffs. “Yeah, and okay, I’m feeling a little competitive.”

They’ve talked about the ‘happy ending’ incident ad nauseam at this point. Every time, Patrick maintains that he’s not upset about it. He was a little put-off, and it’s pumped him up with adrenaline once or twice, but he insists that his trust in David hasn’t been compromised.

“Competitive, huh?”

Patrick smiles, and it’s one of those smiles that makes David weak in the knees. It’s a smile that says, _I’ve got you. I’m ready for this. Let’s do it_. His voice comes out low and gravelly, and it makes sparks go off between David’s shoulder blades. “I’ll show you a happy ending.”

David grins, and Patrick grins back at him. The temperature of the room rises, and it’s not just because of the candles. Patrick picks up a glass of water from the side table and hands it to David. “Better get hydrated,” he instructs. The water cools his hot throat.

When David sets the glass down, Patrick taps the massage table in indication. David obeys, but not before dropping his towel on the floor. There’s a beat where they just stare at each other, Patrick obviously trying not to react. But neither of them is breathing.

Finally, Patrick lets out a small grunt of appreciation. David got what he wanted, so he clambers onto the massage table. If it’s less than graceful, it doesn’t matter. Tonight is all about him anyway—Patrick has made that very clear.

David wonders why he’s never thought about this enough to ask for it before. Normally, special sex involves new toys, some aerobic positions, maybe a little manhandling. This is the opposite of that. David doesn’t have to put in any effort at all. In fact, zero effort is the point. He sticks his face in the little face hole and lets his body go limp.

It’s hard not to compare this moment with the last massage he received on a table—in this very spot on their wedding day. Situations like that are always inherently awkward, and it was the first professional massage he’d received in years. When Nathan arrived, David greeted him stiffly, tried to help decide where to put the table, and then had to interpret “undress to your comfort level.” And then, he had to decide how much he should talk. Nathan didn’t seem like the chatty type. Historically, David usually appreciates that attribute during professional encounters, like with cab drivers, but that day he couldn’t stop making nervous jokes the entire time.

Not that he has any complaints. Five stars. Would recommend to a friend.

But this? This is a whole other level of luxury. The sheets under him are brand-new and theirs. There’s no awkward small talk, no ambiguity about nudity, no script he has to learn, and he doesn’t have to worry that his body hair is in unpredictable places. Patrick knows where David’s hair is, and David knows that Patrick is obsessed with it. Excellent. He doesn’t even have to get under a blanket for the sake of modesty. He’s just sprawled out, completely bare. Only—

“Are you cold, David? Do you want a blanket?”

_Patrick is the best husband in the entire fucking world_. David’s face splits into a grin. “Mmm. Yes, thank you.”

Soft cotton appears and covers him from his ass down over his feet. He rewards Patrick with a contented hum.

* * *

Patrick is _good_ at this. Patrick is so good at this. David knew he would be; he’s got the best arms. He likes to throw balls and swing bats and talk about “arm day” at the gym. He also gives hand jobs like a champ. His hands are warm and slick with massage oil as they knead deeply into the muscles on David’s back. The bases of his palms are pushing, in long strokes, up and down the sides of his spine. Patrick already did the thing where he loosened up the muscle below David’s shoulders before working on the shoulders themselves, and David is so cared for and so generously in love that he wishes everyone in the world had a Patrick.

“Mmmuuur,” David garbles. He’s not compelled to make noise, but feedback and encouragement are important, and he really wants Patrick to know what a good job he’s doing so he’ll keep doing it.

“Mmm. Good?” Patrick’s voice is a little above his head. David is staring at Patrick’s shoes below him. He’s glad Patrick is in his sneakers. He wants Patrick’s feet to be well-supported while he works.

“Mhmm.”

David’s neck is suddenly hot and he’s very glad of the face hole because it gives Patrick premium access to his neck. David didn’t register the tension he was holding in that spot until Patrick’s blunt fingers started rubbing gently there. “Mmmmmmm.”

This might be the best thing that’s ever happened to David. He’s pretty sure. He tries to think of a moment that compares. When he saw Mariah Carey in Toronto when he was seventeen. The day the first boxes of product arrived at the store. When Patrick proposed. Those were all wonderful moments, but they also required a lot of effort—and literal sweat—on David’s part. Which, sure, some would argue made the results more satisfying. But his mind can’t really agree with that right now. He’s so fucking blissed out.

Patrick has moved the blanket up to his back now to start work on his legs. He really is not cutting any corners. He starts with David’s calves. His thumb, supported by the rest of his hand, pushes sweetly into David’s pained muscle, burning ache soothed into warmth.

When Patrick gets to his thighs, he grips one fully with both of his hands and squeezes, pulling down to his knee. He does the same with the other thigh, alternating between them while David loses count. And as he does, puffs of air brush at the skin under David’s ass and at David’s balls. His cock twitches, and David dimly remembers tonight’s endgame.

They own this table now. Patrick bought it. It’s going to move with them to the cottage which means tonight might be the first night of many that David gets this. Maybe next time, Patrick will be on the receiving end. David contemplates the hole his face is in. What if? Could he stand in front of it and make Patrick take—? No, the logistics of that are ridiculous. Actually, he could do with a readjustment of position. David pushes himself up and moves his arms up to use as a pillow, resting on the face hole. The stretch affirms the new softness and flexibility of his back. “Mmmm.”

There’s a gust of air on David’s backside as Patrick flips up the blanket. Then Patrick’s hands are on his ass, kneading his skin.

“ _Oh._ ” The noise that comes out of Patrick is strangled, and David knows his husband is gazing at him. He can sort of imagine what Patrick’s seeing: His cheeks pressing together and opening. His hole puckered and pink. Patrick kneads his cheeks with more fervor—and it’s definitely more for Patrick than it is for David, but that’s alright. He doesn’t need to look at Patrick to know that his pupils are blown and his mouth is probably hanging open. Patrick’s aroused hiss confirms it. “My god, David,” he whispers.

David smiles. “Mmm. Like what you see?”

Patrick just grunts.

David is pretty sure he’s about to get fucked next, and he’s looking forward to it. But then Patrick’s hands disappear and his heavy breathing stills. David’s about to squirm around to investigate when the warmth of Patrick’s hands appears on his right foot. _Oh. Okay. So we’re going all the way, then._

David thinks about objecting, about telling Patrick to get on with it. But he doesn’t want to. The balls of his feet actually are quite sore and Patrick’s strong fingers are pressing all the right places, relieving pain so normal that David forgot it was there until Patrick touched him.

David’s favorite part is when Patrick takes a foot in each hand and presses his thumbs down David’s arches. He does it like, eight times. Every time David thinks Patrick’s done, he keeps going. Patrick’s never half-assed anything in his life, and David is the luckiest person in the entire world.

“Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.”

Patrick chuckles.

“You’re doing such a good job, honey.”

“Mm. I’m glad. You deserve it.”

_Oh, no_. David whines, high and needy. _That’s so nice_.

Patrick lifts one of David’s feet, his grip strong, and lays a soft kiss on his arch. “I’ll be right back.”

David “mmmrmph”s in protest. But then he hears the sink running in the bathroom. Patrick’s washing his hands. Because he’s the best. A creeping tightness returns to David’s back, so he resumes his original position with his face in its designated spot.

When the water turns off, there are a few moments of silence and quiet shuffling before Patrick returns. His tread is lighter, which means he must have taken his shoes off. David smirks. He probably took other things off, too.

Patrick’s hands are back on David’s ass, this time cold from the water, and it prompts a tiny yelp from David. Patrick ignores him. The telltale hot wetness of Patrick’s tongue in his crease, then on his hole, makes him pant.

“Hhhhnnnnggmmmmm.”

Blood rushes to David’s cock and he has to wiggle his hips for some relief. Patrick’s mouth follows the movement, getting David good and sloppy. Then Patrick tongues at David’s rim, shooting sparks up his back. And because Patrick has already touched every other inch of him, the sensation is warm and full with soft edges. There’s a slurping sound as Patrick’s tonguing turns to kisses, and then there’s just air again. David whines again at the loss of contact.

But then, he hears that sweet, sweet crack of a bottle opening, then the squick of lube and Patrick warming it between his fingers, and then there’s contact again. Patrick’s slick fingers run up and down his crease, getting close to his balls. And then Patrick slowly pushes one finger inside of him. David’s already so relaxed and open, Patrick goes in easily, and the slight burn and friction just feels so fucking good.

Patrick’s movements are constant, the prep like an extension of the massage. One finger in and out, then all along his crease. And then in and out again. He does it a few times, and then there’s more lube. And then it’s two fingers. In and out and down. And then Patrick curls his fingers inside of him, twists them around, scissors them open, and the stretch hits something deep in his gut. He does it so many times, David is dizzy with it. He thinks for a moment that Patrick is done, but then there's more lube, and it keeps going. He’s still soft, but every movement sends another wave of heat through his body, crashing into the base of his spine, his cock, down to his toes.

Patrick graduates to three fingers and David is so open for him that Patrick can move his fingers in and out of his hole with barely any resistance. His hands sink and twist into him, on him. David swallows. He didn’t realize he needed to. He’s so far past well-prepped. It’s not even prep. It’s just part of it—part of everything—it’s just another place that Patrick gets to touch and soothe and knead.

David is glad he can’t see anything because it’s taken the edge of desperation off. He can just enjoy this, enjoy every touch, enjoy the firm pressure of Patrick’s fingers— _oh_. Patrick released him a moment ago, and David had expected a fourth finger to get involved. Except now, Patrick is bumping into his legs as he climbs up onto the table over David. And _fuck_ , Patrick is hard. His tip bumps David’s tailbone.

Patrick slides in easily and they both groan. David didn't realize how much he was aching for it, how ready he was, how empty he felt. Now he’s full and taken.

Patrick shifts his arms and legs experimentally. It can't be an easy position, balanced with one thigh between David’s so they can both fit on the table. David imagines Patrick’s arms strained and taut, holding himself up. Patrick goes to the gym. Patrick planks. Patrick can hold himself in the upward dog position when he does morning yoga.

David moans as Patrick starts to move. His thrusts are rhythmic, systematic—just like his hands when they pushed down his spine.

“Breathe, baby,” Patrick says.

David hadn’t realized he was holding his breath. He inhales deeply and then exhales, and the tension releases from his shoulders, his back, his ass. Patrick’s next push is deeper and glides across David’s prostate, making him whine.

The light warmth of the blanket disappears, replaced by the hot weight of Patrick's torso and the press of kisses on the back of David's neck. Patrick grips at David's shoulders for leverage and pushes into him and it's so deep and so hard and David wants Patrick. He wants him close and deep. He wants Patrick to stay just like this—gripping him hard, thrusting in and out of him, steady and unwavering. His body feels open and used in the best way, poised on a razor’s edge.

“Oh. Fuck. David,” Patrick gasps. “I’m gonna come.”

Perfect timing. “Mmm. Go for it,” David breathes.

It only takes a few fast, irregular strokes before Patrick shudders into him. Patrick’s a tenor, but his moan is so deep it nearly hits bass. The sound vibrates through David’s frame, stealing his breath. He wants to bottle that sound, wants to hold it inside his chest.

Patrick pulls out and the loss makes David ache. He whimpers, and Patrick lets out a desperate noise. “David. Fuck. Do you even know what you look like?”

David’s cheeks heat. “No?”

“You look like a fucking _meal_.” Patrick’s breath is heavy and fast, and he takes a moment to regain control. His chest heaves frantically and there’s fire in his eyes. “Turn over,” he commands.

David groans with the effort of rolling over. His body hasn’t felt like this in ages, and never when sober. He’s light and floaty, almost feverish. He’s glad for the ache in his ass. He can focus on it, ground himself with it. When he concentrates on it, the ache rounds out and slowly disperses, throbbing through his lower back. His awareness zeroes in on scattered points of his body, every heartbeat alerting him to a buzz on the tip of his left thumb, near his kidney, on the side of his neck. His cock is tall and so hard, pulsing and pounding with the rest of him.

He looks over at his husband. The sun has just set, and Patrick is golden in the candlelight. His chest is still heaving, and he’s looking at David with such intensity that, if David didn’t know any better, he’d think that Patrick was about to attack.

Patrick _does_ attack him, in a manner of speaking, sucking David’s cock straight down. It’s hot and wet and fast. _Oh, god. So fast_. The dissonant, pulsing heat around his body rushes together to David’s core, to his cock, and Patrick gathers it all up with his mouth. David can barely keep his eyes open; the rest of his body wants to sleep, but his cock is so insistent. It’s like the last piece standing in a game of chess.

_Oh, fuck, Patrick’s mouth_. He pulls back to tongue at David’s tip as his hand strokes him. His hands aren’t really slick anymore, and the friction is just this side of too much. He pulls and pulls, and the heat tingles at the base of David’s spine. He’s going to—he’s going to— _fuck_.

His orgasm is quiet, Patrick’s care making him sink deeper inside of himself. It’s like coming and falling asleep all at once. Patrick has pulled every molecule of tension out of his being. Everything is heavy and warm and dark. He should—he should say something, make a noise. Patrick should know what a good job he did. He should.

“Mmrph.”

Patrick chuckles, but David is too boneless to care. He tries to wiggle a finger, but it’s not worth it. He’s so… he’s so… He takes a deep breath and the air passes over his brain and he thinks maybe he’ll never move again. He gets even warmer when the blanket covers him once more.

* * *

He’s prodded gently out of sleep by Patrick. “C’mon, baby. You gotta drink more water,” he whispers.

David can’t move. He’s still so heavy, and it’s still so dark. He moves his eyes around and red flashes behind his eyelids, but he still can’t open them. Patrick lifts his arms gently and wraps them around his neck. David does his best to help. Then Patrick slides his hands around David’s back and hauls him into a seated position. He gets to lean on Patrick’s naked torso while he does something… over there… and then Patrick nudges him and David does his best to get his eyes open.

“Here.”

It’s his glass of water. David inhales deeply to try and wake himself up. He sips it slowly, and Patrick strokes the back of his head. David mews appreciatively and Patrick kisses his temple. He leans his head back to gulp down the last drops. He was so thirsty; he didn’t realize.

“Ah. Thank you,” he breathes. _For the water, for the massage, for being the best husband and best person to ever exist._

Patrick kisses David’s temple, his lips warm and tender. He leans back to set the glass down, and though it’s just a moment, David misses him. When he returns, he circles his arms around David’s waist and pulls him off the table. “Come on,” he says. “Take a nap and I’ll get dinner ready.”

David’s stomach gurgles in response. “What’s for dinner?” he whispers.

“Leftovers,” Patrick whispers back.

David hums. That means leftover chicken and rice. And they have ginger beers in the fridge.

Patrick steers David to the bed and David hums gratefully, but then— “Wait. The sheets—massage oil—”

“I put an extra top sheet on. Don’t worry.”

David looks down. The striped sheet they never use is underneath him. “Mm. Good.” David sinks down onto the bed and goes back to sleep.

* * *

He doesn’t sleep as heavily this time. Every once in a while, he can hear the clank of Patrick doing something in the kitchen. And when Patrick calls him for dinner, his hunger is insistent enough to push him out of bed. He slips into some of Patrick’s sweats and a sweater and floats through the apartment to where his husband and his dinner await.

He kisses Patrick, his eyes half-open. “Mm. Thank you.”

Patrick smiles, bright and warm. “You’re very welcome.”

He’ll eat his food, and he’ll take a shower, and then he’ll go to bed early. Hopefully, Patrick will cuddle up next to him instead of staying up working on taxes, and it’ll be a really good sleep. And he’ll wake up tomorrow in probably a really good mood, and everything will be really good.

“You’re the best husband in the entire world, did you know that?”

Patrick laughs and sips his drink. “That’s what I like to hear.” He leans over and rubs David’s thigh affectionately. “You’re a very close second.”

**Author's Note:**

> I know [SC Frozen Over](scfrozenover.tumblr.com) is currently ongoing and you have a million other things to read, so extra thanks for reading this!
> 
> Comments and kudos always appreciated <3


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